


bigger than us fractions

by loonyloopy



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:51:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 8,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5083819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyloopy/pseuds/loonyloopy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of prompts and drabbles about Gaspard and Persephone. sometimes not fitting with the actual story</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. drunk kiss

“You’re dunk.”, Gaspard tried to act nonchalant, which was hard considering that there was a very drunk and heavy Inquisitor sitting in his lap, trying to loosen the thin threads of his mask. Persephone’s body was pressed against him, legs against thighs, her breasts rather visible in her low-cut tunic. This evening had been the first time, he had seen her in finery and without an inch of protecting armor. It suited her surprisingly well and the rich fabric was soft beneath his fingers.

“Yes. Very much so.”

Her breath smelled of mint and ale.

“Don’t you think, it’s a bit vulgar? The mighty Inquisitor sitting in an Emperor’s lap?”

Her pout was quite impressive.

“It’s nice lap, very comfortable and everyone else has already gone to bed… we’re alone and it’s been so long since you know.”

A good point, but Gaspard heard and saw the servants, who fought a losing battle against the chaos of half eaten food and drunken guests. There would be whispers in the morning and crude stories, half fantasy and half truth. Persephone’s cheering was loud as his mask hit the floor. Gaspard flinched. Another expensive piece ruined.

“I need masks made of silverite, if you don’t stop destroying mine.”

Persephone decided to ignore him. Face intense, she started opening the buttons of his doublet . One triumph was never enough for someone like Persephone Trevelyan. She had to have it all.

“I behaved all night. Danced, drank and made toasts about our allies and our victory. I defeated Coryp… Cory… you know that evil one, which wasn’t that hard. Compared to dancing … and I really deserve your lap now.”

“Is that so?”

Persephone grabbed his jaw and forced him to look into her face. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair no longer tamed by braids and needles. The bronze of her skin was almost glowing. She was beautiful and deadly and belonged to him.

“Of course. You have to accept my orders. I’m the Herald of Andraste and you’re just some Imperial Majesty tagging along, raising your sword from time to time and looking handsome.”

Gaspard’s chuckle was low. 

“I’m yours.”

The confession took her by surprise. It was barely visible and easily missed, but he had the training of the Orlesian court and noticed even the most subtle of expressions. Her kiss then was sloppy and a vain attempt at covering her lack of control. She bit his lip. Of course. 

“I know.”


	2. a moan

His moan was addictive. It sat deep in his throat, made his whole body move and dance to her touch. She could feel him trying to stifle the sound, see how he bit his lip and heard his muttered curses. Valiant efforts, but ever so useless. Gaspard moaned, louder. He was holding her though and his hands grabbed her back and left marks where his short nails dug into flesh. Another attempt at control. She wrapped her legs tighter around his hips, pushed her body against him. Everything to make him moan again.

The bed was a few feet away, but both of them had been short of patience that evening, ripping and tearing at their clothing, rutting on the cold floor like some filthy animal. She craned her neck, kissed him, and he moaned against her lips. Gaspard was always so hungry, never satisfied, wanting more with every second, as if the simplest pleasures had been denied to him for a long time. Sleeping with him felt like a contest. One that she often won. Persephone smiled.

“Come one. Just another little moan…”

“Cruel woman.”

But he obeyed. The mightest ruler of Thedas moaned when she asked him to do so and it was glorious. He put his hand between her legs, searching for the sensitive spot hidden between wet flesh. Gaspard’s fingers didn’t move, but every movement made her rub against them. A groan escaped her mouth. Bastard. His accent was thick, voice hoarse and out of breath.

“Sweet revenge, my dear.”

They didn’t last long after that. One last thrust and their bodies went tense, then slack. A familiar weariness settled in her bones, while she enjoyed the last traces of bliss. Persephone put her hands onto his chest and forced him to lie down. She kissed his throat and bit the tender skin there, the smell of musk and sweat present. Gaspard stroked her arms.

“That was.”

“Shhht, don’t spoil the moment.”

Persephone knew how helpless and weak he already felt in those moments. Talking about it didn’t help. The Game had taught him to show no signs of affection, or arousal, any feeling for that matter. Seeing him come undone was almost endearing and made something strange flutter in her chest. Gaspard’s eyes were closed and she was glad that she couldn’t see the the pale iris.

“We’ll try the bed next time.

“Is your back hurting, old man?”

“No, but the mattress is very bouncy.”

“Bouncy? That sounds absolutely delightful.”


	3. a whisper

“You left early.”

Gaspard’s voice held nothing but a distant note of surprise. He’d found her at last. Skyhold appeared to be larger than he first thought, lots of hidden rooms and places to hide in. Persephone stood on the battlements, arms resting on cold stone, still wearing her formal attire, which was made out of a dull golden fabric. At first glance it had reminded him of the paintings of Andraste that were so prominent in the Cathedrals of Orlais. Lots of gold and bronze, a woman in flames. Her advisers had surely thought of this as well. Symbolism was as important as before and the people needed their heroes and hope. Her reddish hair was ruffled though and her eyes never left the darkening horizon. There was something weary about her whole appearance and in the set of her shoulders. Her voice was tired as well.

“Didn’t feel like celebrating any longer.”

“It’s a feast in your honor. The soldiers are shouting your name, the nobles want to dance with you. Lots of food and drink. You get the picture.”

Persephone sighed. She didn’t meet his eyes, even as he came to stand beside her.

“Gaspard?”

“Yes?”

“What does a soldier do without an army?”

Persephone stumbled over the words and her face was hard, jaw clenched and eyes distant.

“Without an enemy to fight? I wasn’t born to lead, I wasn’t raised to rule. Give me something to kill and I’ll do it, but … this? Will there be peace now? What am I supposed to do? This is a fucking mess. Cassandra should get herself a new Herald. ”

To see her like this was unsettling. Awkward even. Normally she’d spew around some insults and would be done with it and he would basically do the same. Often enough sex followed, but seldom heavy words and thoughts. Persephone wasn’t suited to weakness, neither was he, and Gaspard put an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m a chevalier: I’ve always fought in a war or two and listening to courtiers still makes me want to rip their heads of or get them banished to some Fereldan village. I have that kind of power now. Thanks to you.”

Gaspard shook his head and laughed quietly.

“I don’t know what the future brings…”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper, “But I think, I could learn to love you.”


	4. too loud

“Persephone? A word, if you please.” 

Oh. She was in trouble and judging by Josephine’s expression, and how her brows were tightly knitted together, in pretty deep trouble. She put down the training sword and joined her friend for a walk through Skyhold’s ground. The stones were still decorated with flowers and delicate lampions, which were bright and colorful during the festivities. The air smelled sweet and of her final victory. Everyone had been hangover for a whole week. Great times. Josephine took her by the arm and guided her far away from prying ears and eyes. That didn’t bode well.

“We need to discuss a situation, which is very delicate.”

“Yes?” Josephine coughed and didn’t meet her eyes. Instead her gaze seemed focused on snowy mountain tops and a blue sky.

“Since … well, since His Imperial Majesty is staying at Skyhold, I received certain complaints about loud noises throughout the night. It seems some of our more delicate visitors can’t sleep.”

“Noises?”

“They spoke of loud moaning and asked, if spirits are haunting our hold.”

Persephone sucked in a breath and had the grace to blush. A bit. To be honest her reunion with Gaspard had been quite passionate and loud and very long and walking was out of question for a few hours, but she’d thought the walls of Skyhold thick enough. Apparently not. They hadn’t seen each other in a while and Persephone was drunk on the mere fact that she survived the battle against Corypheus. And Gaspard was willing to celebrate as well. Every night. Sometimes in the morning as well.

“I …,” she stopped.

“We will be quieter from now on?”

Josephine breathed a sigh of relief.

“I would be very thankful, because you can’t fathom how hard it is to talk to noble allies that demand answers about moaning and screaming. One day I will run out of excuses.”

Persephone would definitely buy Josephine something nice and expensive in the near future. 

“The truth is out of question? I mean, by now everyone should have noticed that we’re kinda … you know.”

She made a vague hand gesture, because there was no word to describe what this actually was. Josephine shook her head and clasped her hands behind her back.

“Think of the repercussion. The Inquisitor and His Imperial Majesty having an affair. Two of the mightiest people in Thedas… No, just try to be quieter from now on.”

“I will.”


	5. crave

They could never be close enough. Skin on skin, fingers digging into flesh, bodies joined and teeth scraping her neck. Her legs were tight around his hips and his moans rang through the room. Servants might whisper about them in the morning. They didn’t care. Not anymore. The liaison between the Inquisitor and His Imperial Majesty was no longer a secret. She’d kissed him in a room filled with nobility and enjoyed their shocked gasps and muttered curses. His mask had cut into her skin, the emeralds cold and harsh. Gaspard didn’t seem to mind her mouth on his and quickly escaped the ball without uttering a single excuse. Months of separation did nothing but increase the longing. Persephone had been heartsick and was insufferable, because nothing would keep her mind occupied for even the shortest amount of time. She’d craved his warmth and touch and rough fingers. 

Now Persephone felt his muscles shift beneath every touch, every small caress, and his hand found its way between her legs, rubbing against her clit. And his thrusts were hard and send a subtle pain through her lower body. She wouldn’t have it any either way. Right now, she needed this. Him. Persephone came quickly and she muffled her screams with biting his neck. The last time, he’d marked her and now he would’ve to hide the bruise from the court, or wear it like a medal. He was a proud man after all. Quick to anger, and quick to love. 

Gaspard held her for a while afterward and stroked her hair and back. He could be surprisingly gentle, if he wanted to. Persephone doubted that he’d shown that part of him to any part of the Orlesian nobility.

“Seeing you in that gown… I couldn’t resist.”

He nuzzled her throat and kissed her chin and Persephone stretched her limbs. His bed was fare more comfortable than her and she could see herself spending some time in there.

“That’s why I wore it. Josephine wanted me to look regal and impressive.”

“She chose right then. Wear it more often and I’ll fulfill your every wish.”

Persephone would personally thank her adviser later. Very much so.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to sit on your throne.”

“On my throne?”

“Preferable with you naked beneath me.”

Gaspard chuckled.

“I’m sure that I can arrange that.”


	6. a mirror

A mirror, she thought, she is a mirror. Lips touch lips, fire calls to fire. Strength to strength, the taste of power and greatness on their tongues. Brash and hard, but tenderness hidden beneath everything and in the soft words and stolen moments. Born into wealth and responsibility, but choosing such different paths in life. She’d never wanted to rule and willingly left her home and the lands, who belonged to her, but she was starting to see the appeal of golden beds and expensive bath oils. The appeal of bedding an Emperor, who had the world at his feet. It was exciting, dangerous at times. Troubled months had forged them and their armies together, intertwined in those strange mixture of balls and political debates. Passion and calm and she felt like being trapped in a storm. But Persephone couldn’t resist his charm and dry wit. His rugged appearance didn’t hurt either. What did he saw in her? Her glib tongue and crude manners perhaps, the ugly scars and broken nose. The things, which made other men and women tire of her so easily.

Gaspard’s body was heavy on top of her. She loved his scent, mixed with the sweat of this and their earlier sparring. He smelled of lemon and mint and the dry wine she so enjoyed. They’d called it a draw, put down swords and shields and started to rip at clothing. They’re were too stubborn and proud to ever lose. Persephone’s legs were wrapped around his waist as she moaned his name against his lips. There were good at this. Had been from the start and ever so slowly feelings had crept up upon her. It was the way Gaspard spoke to her now, still all barbed tongued, full of hidden traps and double meanings, but never not honest. Sometimes hinting at emotion and trust. Especially when he was drunk and tired and bitter at the world. He’d told her about his first wife and how they’d never been any emotion between them. Gaspard swore to never love. It was a weakness. One that had killed Celene in the very end and he wasn’t as naive as her. Perhaps never would be, but this was enough for now. Grand romantic gestures weren’t her thing either.

Persephone’s body arched as he put a hand between her legs, putting pressure on the sensitive spot there. He was strong enough to hold his body in place with the other hand and his fingers were rough. The training of a Chevalier was as useful on a battlefield as in a bed. A notion Persephone learned pretty fast in their relationship. Gaspard moved slower now and smiled, when he saw the frustration on her face. His lips followed the curve of the scar that marred her face. He was enjoying teasing her too much and her nails dug into his skin.

“Bastard.” She hissed and bit his lower lip. It got her a laugh and a forceful thrust that made her moan again. Gaspard looked so smug and she silently swore to repay him for this. Soon he would be the one beneath her, begging for release and a faster rhythm.

“Better?”

Persephone came with a shudder, her whole body covered in goosebumps, and his taste in her mouth. Gaspard followed only a blink later, his whole weight crushing her beneath the blankets and himself. She didn’t mind it. 

Fire called to fire after all.


	7. cagamosis

Persephone stopped. Her horse fought against the sudden halt, but her grip was strong and her legs tight against its sides. She breathed in and out, tried to control her anger and the scream that was building in her throat. Fucking Orlesians. The hunting party moved and with it the chatter and the bickering. When Gaspard had invited her to a week of wyvern hunting, she surely hadn’t thought of being in the thick midst of nobility and that extremely bothersome couple, who wouldn’t shut up. Their marriage clearly wasn’t a good one. They traded insults like they meant nothing, harsh words and old stories, full of hurt pride and secret lovers that bought them grand gifts. Back and forth and back again. It made everyone uncomfortable and Persephone was ready to kill a wyvern with her bare hands by then. Or her teeth. Anything to drone out their voices. Was that normal? Wasn’t the game about subtlety and wit?

“I never took you as a coward, who flees from the battlefield.” Gaspard’s voice held a mocking note but his mouth was stern. He looked handsome in his riding leathers, proud and deadly, but Persephone tried not to think about that too hard. He used his charm like a sword. 

“How can you stay so calm? I spent one morning with them and I’m considering to declare war on Orlais.”

That earned her a laugh.

“Yes. I know. You never wear a mask and your face betrays you every single moment. It’s a charming quality but misplaced when you walk amongst vipers.”

Persephone huffed.

“Maybe you’d like to lent my one of yours then? You got quite the collection.” Vain man that he was, he actually had a room reserved for his collection. Gaspard leaned closer and she felt her leg caught between him and her own horse. His gloved hand traced the scar on her face.

“I’d be honored to see you in the colors of my house.”

That caught her off guard. Her eyes went wide and she grabbed his hand, because his touch suddenly became had to bear.

“Are you proposing marriage?”

“No … not today, my dear.”


	8. petrichor

That smell. Persephone woke up and clutched the blankets tight against her chest. Her breathing was shallow and the room so dark that it was hard to see anything. Had she been dreaming? No, the scent was still there, lingering in her nose and in the air. Sweet, heavy and eerily familiar. She tried to move, but Gaspard’s arm was resting on her waist and holding her in a firm embrace. His face was relaxed though. It felt strange to see him like that. His usual nonchalance gone and the ironic smirk hidden in the corners of his lips. He looked younger that way. Not exactly weak, but vulnerable. She doubted that he’d allowed many to sleep at his side. In the noble circles of Orlais trusting someone seemed risky and foolish and was a guarantee for an early grave. Persephone kissed his cheek and freed herself. Well, she was from Ostwick anyhow.

Goosebumps started covering her body as soon as her feet touched the marble floor. The fireplace was full of embers and the warmth almost gone. She searched for her dressing gown. The silk was cold but soft like water on her skin. One of the tall windows allowed her to look at the sky and the darkness, which made Orlais seem so tranquil. A small path of light colored the horizon and the heavy clouds. In a few hours this night would be over. She already missed the peace and quiet. And Gaspard.

“Persephone?” His voice was tired. “The bed was suddenly cold.” She tried not to shiver as he kissed her neck.

“I just, ... the smell. It reminds me of home. When I was little, my sister and I used to watch the rain and it smelled like this.”

“When I was little my sister planed the assassination of my best friend.”

Persephone grunted. “And here I was having a moment of deep melancholy and you have to ruin it.”

His arms were around her, hands meeting in front of her stomach and his head heavy on her shoulder.

“Persephone, it’s too early to be homesick. Allow me to entertain you with various distraction until the sun rises and we have to wear masks again.”

Gaspard tucked at the gown, opened it with nimble fingers and the palm of his hand brushed over her breast.

“Am I allowed to be sad afterward?”

“Depends on your cruelty. If you want to hurt my fragile ego? Yes.”

“Nothing about you is fragile.”

“No. Especially not right now.”

“Ugh. To bed with you.”


	9. mamihlapinatapei

Persephone’s fingers were like claws, her knuckles white around the goblet. She thought that the gnashing of her teeth must be heard throughout the whole palace. It probably was. Her wine was gone and her stomach empty. And this whole evening turned out to be rather bothersome. Her gaze lingered on the figure of the mighty Emperor himself. Pretty dress or not, he wasn’t paying any attention to her. She certainly wasn’t wearing gold to be ignored. But instead of Persephone, Gaspard was surrounded by a whole flock of very charming and very beautiful women that tried to become the new empress. Precious flowers of the court, trained from their childhood to represent Orlais in all its glory. Persephone wasn’t jealous. No. Not of their graceful figures and witty banter or the way his hands lingered on slim arms and waists. Every single one looked stunning, even with delicate masks hiding porcelain skin. Well, he sure couldn’t bed them all. But knowing Gaspard, he would try it nonetheless.

“Sod it.”

She spotted Cullen, who wasn’t enjoying himself either. Not one bit, judging by his expression. His face was grim and he’d fled from a group of nobles earlier and now hid pressed against the gilded walls. Poor guy was dressed like a prince of some long forgotten fairytale (thanks to Josephine). His trousers a bit too small, which made his backside a formidable view, and his doublet showing the colors of the Inquisition, silver and black, which complemented his eyes. Persephone grabbed two goblets and walked towards him.

“Listen, Cullen. I got an escape plan ready. We just need Sera to throw some of her famous cheese bombs. We’ll use the chaos to flee and our horses will be waiting. We could be back in Skyhold in a day or two.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Oh? Are you sure that you can handle a horse in a dress like this? It’ll be a bit cold.” His cheeks were flushed as was his neck and his eyes seemed a bit glossy. He’d drowned his worries in wine for a while then. But he had a point. Her dress wasn’t made to do anything in it but look pretty. The fabric clung to her curves and was showing a lot of skin.

“I’ll ride naked. Everything to escape this.” She bumped their goblets together and emptied hers in one long gulp.

“Are you ignoring your, er, lover?” Cullen’s eyes were focused on Gaspard and his little harem. She sighed.

“That obvious?”

He nodded and took another sip of his wine. “Yes, but quite amusing. Didn’t know you could be that childish.”

“I’m not childish.”

“Says the woman, who wants to flee naked into the night. What a sight that would that be.”

“A spectacular one.”

“True.”

The compliment made her blink and the moment passed in one long minute of awkward. Cullen coughed. “By the looks of it, he’s planing my murder right now. He has been watching you the whole time.”

She rolled her eyes and punched his arm. “Cullen, don’t be rude now.”

“I’m not. His admirers are starting to pout.”

“Good.”


	10. crying

Persephone was not a whiner. She didn’t cry, she didn’t complain, she surely didn’t tear up at strange moments and had never, not even as a child, and that had made her parents quite nervous at times. It just wasn’t her way of handling the world and especially her grief. Persephone loved screaming and punching things and was envious of people that could cry freely and openly, because all she could come up with were dry sobs and maybe a hiccup. So, this was definitely a first. The tears were hot on her face and the ink on the letter smeared. 

“Persephone?” Gaspard looked as shocked as she felt about her own crying. He’d been out in the stables, meeting a group of recently arrived Orlesian chargers, while she tried making sense of her paperwork. Josephine had been nowhere in sight and she was left to deal with a stack of reports. This alone was a good reason for crying.

“Has something happened?” He was suddenly very pale and awkwardly put his hand on her shoulder, as if still deciding on how to comfort her. They certainly didn’t know how to react to such emotions and Persephone stifled a sob.

“I, yes.. My little sister…” She clutched the letter between shaking fingers. Gaspard got to his knees, trying to look at her face, which she was hiding behind a mess of red hair. 

“Calista? Is she alright?”

Persephone nodded. 

“Yes, yes. She is getting married to someone. I don’t even know him. He seems to be a decent fellow though and she really loves him.” Another sob and Gaspard’s eyes were wide with surprise. “You’re crying, because she is getting married?” Persephone’s throat was dry and aching and she shifted on the chair. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

“Yes, you arse. She’s my little sister. She braided my hair and I taught her to throw a dagger and she is this perfect little person. I don’t want her to marry just someone.”

Calista deserved everything and more. At least she seemed to marry for love and was not forced into something arranged like her parents had planed for her elder daughter. Persephone had run away all those years ago and never regretted her decision. Gaspard stood up and took the letter. 

“Ah, so we’re invited.”

“We?” The tears began to dry, but her skin felt all blotchy and hot and a headache was starting to bother her. She watched Gaspard reading the splotched words. He wasn’t wearing his mask, never did in their private quarters and his face seemed unreadable. 

“Well, she wrote that you can bring a special someone. I know that you’re pretty close with your horse, but I’m better with courtly manners and at dancing.” Gaspard took a bow and Persephone laughed. 

“You’re trying to cheer me up, aren’t you?” He smiled, in earnest this time. “Does it work?”

“Yes.”


	11. petit four

“Gaspard?”

He’d been hiding the whole afternoon and Persephone was starting to worry. A little. Maybe he’d been delayed in the kennels, playing with his new litter, or as he would claim it: train them to become strong, capable warriors. As if. That fearsome chevalier was as soft as any other dog loving human when surrounded by a group of fluffy puppies. She finally found him in his study. Gaspard flinched and tried to shield the desk from her view.

“Ah, there you are.”

Persephone stepped closer and ignored his grumbling about meeting her in five minutes in their shared quarters and not here.

“What are you hiding? The newest love letters? Your adoring crowd sure is poetic.” She tried to mimic one of the younger ladies of the court and made her voice sound very shrill. “Oh Gaspard, how I suffer knowing that you wouldn’t touch my silken thigh with your magnificent nose.”

He groaned. “They’re not writing things like that.” Persephone put a hand on his shoulders and leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“They do and I can agree about the nose part.”

She looked at his desk and starting to laugh. He didn’t hide letters, or anything of importance, but a plate filled with overly decorated sweets, pink and white ones, nuts, chocolates, everything you could wish for. It would’ve looked better on the desk of some noble lady, but a few pieces were missing and Gaspard’s breath smelt sweet. They were his.

“I never knew you had such a sweet tooth.”

Persephone sat down on his lap and was very happy about the sturdy chair, which was able to support their joined weight. Carefully she picked one of the petit fours. It tasted heavenly. Dark chocolate mixed with something creamy and fruity. Gaspard sighed, but put an arm around her waist.

“I try to keep my weaknesses to myself.”

“Liking sweet things is not a weakness.” He gave her a stern look.

“Hmpf.”

Persephone chose another one and let it dangle in front of his mouth. His patience was already wearing thin and a faint blush crept upon his neck. Was he really that sensitive about sweets?

“Come on, one small bite for me.”

He refused to even open his mouth, which made Persephone used an effective pout. That always worked. His grip around her got tighter.

“Stop this woman, I swear.”

“Afraid that I might eat all that?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, how little you do know me.”

Persephone put the petit four between her lips and kissed him. The sweetness was sticky and overwhelming and she was sure that some molten chocolate was stuck on her throat, but Gaspard would help her with that.

Later.


	12. moaning

“Gaspard!” Persephone was sure her moaning was loud enough to alert every damn servant in the whole palace. Not that it mattered. She had her lover between her legs and couldn’t really concentrate on anything but that. Her fingers clutched the armrests, afraid that otherwise she would just fall off. She rested her legs on his broad shoulders, surprised about how good it looked form her perspective. Gaspard had the best way of putting an end to the endless amount of correspondence she’d had to read, while Josephine stayed with her family and took a well deserved vacation from everything. 

Oh Maker, she really shouldn’t think of Josephine right now but the man kneeling before her, his fingers strong and his mouth wet.

He’d kissed her thighs, every scar and blemish, licked a path right to overly sensitive skin, sucked and nibbled. Gaspard was too good at this and she could feel him smile. That bastard enjoyed reducing her to a whimpering mess and knew that she would take her revenge sooner or later. It had always been about power and pleasure with them. Nothing soft and loveable about the act just pulling and pushing.

Persephone felt the heat radiating from her own skin, heard the blood rushing through her body. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip, trying to stop herself from moaning and granting him the satisfaction of having her at his mercy. It felt good. His beard scratching her thighs, his hands unyielding on her flesh. He’d been at this for the better part of an hour, relentlessly pushing her to the edge without letting her come.

And then he stopped. A cold shiver swept over her and Persephone met his eyes. Gaspard’s eyes looked darker than usual.

“You’re too quiet.”

So, he’d noticed? The ruler of Orlais and his fragile self. For a man with such a colorful past, he craved praise like an addiction.

“Not satisfying enough for your ego?”

“Indeed.”

He licked her clit. Just once. Not nearly long enough to be anything but teasing, and she had been this fucking close this time. It was starting to hurt and to annoy her. At this pace, she would get a cramp before any orgasm. 

Damn. 

Persephone moved her legs.

“You realize that your head is right between my thighs? And they’re very strong. Forged in battles and while riding horses and Emperors.”

Chuckling, he kissed a nasty scar right on her hip. She couldn’t even remember, who was responsible for it. Maybe some mercenary or a demon. The life of the Inquisitor seemed so very exciting. Gaspard just laughed, a deep and throaty sound raising the goosebumps on her skin.

“As always, you impress me with your logic and argumentation, my dear.”

“Be impressed down there.”

“Say please?”

Persephone grunted. “Ugh, please.” He patted her thigh like he would do with a well-behaved horse.

“Better.”

He pressed his tongue against her, just the right amount of pressure, and Persephone felt herself moaning.


	13. first gift

“I swear, if I end up naked in front of a bunch of Orlesian nobles, I’m going to kill you. Very slowly and with much pleasure.”

She hated being that helpless. Her skin itched beneath the blindfold and Gaspard’s hands were rough, as he pulled her through unseen floors and along strange paths. Persephone had already stumbled twice and cursed him with all the colorful words she remembered from her years spent with a merry band of mercenaries. The air got colder, meaning they were outside now? Had they left his Chateau? Perhaps. One could never tell with him and he’d been oh so very secretive the whole day. Persephone heard voices, laughter? 

There went her reputation.

He stopped, thumb circling the delicate skin of her wrist. His touch made her catch her breath and she hated herself for being that vulnerable to a simple gesture.

“Hush, Persephone. It’s a surprise.” She could hear the smile in his voice. Damn, she would not pout. No. 

“And you don’t trust me to just keep my eyes closed?”

Gaspard laughed and helped her around some unseen obstacle. “No. You’re not especially prone to listening to orders.” Well, he had a point. Luckily fate had decided to made her a leader.

“Outside the bedroom, at least.”

Persephone tried to free herself, but his fingers were steel around hers.“You’re not helping.”

Another chuckle. “Wasn’t trying to.”

Of course. Persephone did start to pout then, but he ignored it, and finally loosened the knots on the scarf.

“Open your eyes.”

A horse, a mare by the looks of it, cream colored and sturdy and probably one of the fiercest creatures she had ever seen, and the Inquisition fought dragons on a regular basis. She wore neither saddle nor bridle and Persephone’s hands itched to touch her, take her out for a ride. Sure, Persephone owned a dozen of mounts, strange ones too, but nothing as elegant and graceful as her.

“Ah, you got me horse? Tired of being my favorite mount?”

Gaspard smirked, feeling obviously pleased with himself. “I’ll never tire of that, but it would be advisable that you wrap your legs around something else from time to time. My back would be grateful.” 

Not that she’d stop with it. Aching back or not.

“Hm.” Persephone patted the mare’s thick neck. “She is a real beauty.”

He came to stand beside her, shoulders almost touching. “One of the finest in my stables, bred to carry a soldier in full armor, not afraid of blood and battle. She got quite the temper and needs a strong hand though.”

Persephone raised her brow. “She reminded you of someone.”

“Perhaps a little bit.” For most Orlesian women, it’d be a disgrace being compared to a horse, but as a Trevelyan she was able to ride, before she could walk steadily on two stubby legs. Her family had always been known for breeding some fine horses and such an animal was considered to be the perfect gift, especially during the final stages of courting.

“Thank you, Gaspard.” The sentimental tone of their talk was forgotten, when he placed a kiss on the base of her neck.

“Are you inclined to show me your gratitude? We’re alone and there is an empty box at the other side of the stables.” Persephone touched his chin.

“Your back is up to it?”

He chuckled. “Only one way to find out.”


	14. caught in a storm

To be caught in such a massive display of natural destruction hadn’t been very high on Persephone’s priorities this day.

And yet, here she was.

Thunder shook the very ground beneath their feet and massive lightning bolts parted the sky. It had been raining for the past hour and it showed no sign of stopping. Everything looked muddy and dark and it would be pure madness to go any further. They’d found shelter in an abandoned hut, with their horses safely standing in a joined stable. Once, it may have belonged to some hunter. Now it reeked of dust and decay, but offered shelter and a roof. She pulled her hair into a loose ponytail and tried to untie the bindings of her wet armor. Her fingers felt too cold and slippy and she could hear Gaspard curse, because he faced same problem.

Persephone raised a brow. “We’re lucky that we’ve found this hovel. Could you imagine being stuck in that thunderstorm somewhere else?”

He grunted.

Maybe he could.

With a sigh, she finally managed to wriggle out of her chest-piece and the padded under tunic. It left her nearly naked and freezing, but she’d been able to secure the horse’s blankets and wrapped one around her shoulders. Gaspard still fought with the heavy armor of the Chevaliers and Persephone put a hand on his shoulders.

“Need help?”

His patience was clearly at an end. After another fruitless try, he groaned, and shoved her hand away. “That blasted piece of shit.”

“Come here.” She opened the clasps, ignoring his anger and frustration, and freeing him of the heavy pieces. His skin was pale and clammy and scared.

“Next time, we listen to the local farmer, when he’s talking about a nearing storm.”

Another grunt and Persephone felt inclined to roll her eyes.

“And we had so much fun.”

They had. Ylenn Basin wasn’t the most impressive part of Orlais, but it offered quite a pleasing view and a strong mead, which seemed famous enough beyond the borders of the region. Persephone had spent the last three days, slightly drunk and slightly happy, because riding at the side at the newly crowned Emperor of Orlais came with certain benefits. The common folk served her cup after cup, congratulating her on her status as the Inquisitor, and whispered about her relationship with Gaspard behind closed doors. 

Gossip seemed the foundation of the whole country and she didn’t mind much any more.

Gaspard put the other blanket around his shoulders, as he walked to one of the broken windows. “We’ll be stuck in here for the next hours.”

Persephone wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her mouth to his neck. “Think this through. We’re both pretty naked and there is a bed, which probably smells rather bad, but a bed nonetheless.” Her hands came to rest on his stomach. “What could we possible do to pass the time?”

There was a smile in his voice. “I have no idea.”

She let the blanket fall off and pressed herself against his back. “Oh, mighty Emperor might you save me from freezing to death?” Gaspard was surprisingly fast and swept her off her feet, carrying her, and it was probably the most romantic thing he’d ever done. Not that she had much to go on in the first place.

The bed did smell like mold, but Persephone concentrated on the weight atop of her, and his lips. “Lets get you warmed up.”

She put an arm around his neck. “Don’t ruin the mood with talking.”


	15. planning

“It’s past bedtime.” Gaspard’s beard scratched her cheek, as he bent down to look at her notes. “Why are you still brooding about your correspondences. You hate answering letters.” The scent of brandy and smoke clung to his skin and Persephone nearly crushed the feather between her fingers.

“I’m planning our wedding.” Chuckling, Gaspard shoveled through the mass of papers, forcefully ruining her order. He was in a playful mood, tonight, judging by his smile and his tone and the way he pressed his body against her.

“Our wedding? Maker, how could I forget!” He was a lot like his dogs in terms of trying to get her attention and maybe a good belly scrub.

“You didn’t. You love to remind me of my duties as a wife and the wedding night.” As if there was a single thing that they hadn’t shared. She’d needed to be more creative after their wedding and ask a professional for guidance. Not to mention that she would never succumb to being a silent and dutiful wife, who had to look pretty and smile all the time. 

Gaspard arched an eyebrow. “That sounds like me.” He started to kiss her neck and cupped one breast with nimble fingers. 

Persephone pushed his hands away.

“Josephine forced me to think about the order of seating. You can’t have certain people sitting too close to each other and with the Divine blessing our union, we have to think about her guard and the list goes on…” Why was this so hard? Josephine seemed to enjoy such planning, while Persephone suffered from a constant headache, and tried to hide from her friend. But marrying the Emperor of Orlais meant more than just a wedding and vows spoken in the Maker’s name. It felt like the social highlight of the year, the biggest ball, the largest feast. Everyone without an invitation would be deeply disgraced.

And Gaspard didn’t care much either, because he pouted like a little boy. “You just ruined the mood.”

Persephone had to laugh at the distraught look on his face. “Mine our yours?”

“Both?” Gaspard pulled at her tunic to uncover more skin and pressed his lips on her shoulder.

“You won’t give up?” 

He bit her ever so gently. “Never.”


	16. a painting

“Do we really have to go through this?” Persephone crossed her arms beneath her breasts and looked at the various sketches of her own face. Not a detail was missing. The lines around her eyes and mouth, the scars, the broken nose, every single imperfection. And she’d been naive enough to believe that portraits commissioned by the Emperor should be flattering. The artist even caught her looking out of some window, seemingly deep in thought and acting a bit lost. Melancholic, for the lack of a better word. 

“Yes.” Gaspard shuffled through the various papers, careful not to stain his fingers with charcoal.

“Why?”

“You’re going to be my wife. People expect to see your likeness in their homes and we have to use several paintings of you and me for our own houses.” The thought scared her. To imagine a bunch of people she didn’t know looking at her face. Bowing to her? Calling her names? It felt like losing a part of yourself and giving secrets away. She’d never been a very private person, but this took things too far.

“I have to sit still for hours, if not days. It was hard enough to pose for those sketches.” Persephone’s ass had started to hurt after a mere minutes. She wasn’t made to not move. Her fingers always itched to touch something and inspect and her legs demanded to be used. A lot.

And the constant smell of oil never left her clothing and hair. She’d taken an especially long bath after their first session. 

“There are worse things than that.” Gaspard raised his brows and folded one of the sketches. He put it in the inside of his sleeve and Persephone started to question his wits.

“Name one.”

“Inviting all of our relatives to the marriage.”

Persephone sighed. “Fair point.” 

“You Trevelyans are sure a huge clan.” No one actually knew how many of them roamed the realms of Thedas. They occupied every corner of the known world.

“Not everyone is related by blood and I’ve met only a small number of them.” As a child, she’d thought the family gathering lavish and huge, but growing up set everything into perspective. Noble houses always bred off their children like horses.

“It’ll still be taken as an affront to not invite them.” Gaspard put the last sketch atop of the others. He’d chosen two. One of Persephone facing the viewer with just a hint of her neck and shoulders and another one with her whole body facing to the side. With the right dress the second one would look regal.

Persephone had liked that one too, but she kept quiet. “What was the name of the guy again?”

“Francios de Merl. He’s young, but cherished by the whole court.” She needed to remember this. It seemed rather impolite to not greet him in a more personal matter. After all, they’d spent several hours together already and Persephone seemed used to a mop of dark curls behind his easel .

“And I take that that compliments his skill?”

“Yes.”

She tugged at her braid and decided that it’d be wise to go riding in the afternoon. She needed to make herself tired for another session of painting. First the dresses, now that. “Why did I ever agree to marry you?”

Gaspard put his hands on Persephone’s shoulders and kissed her neck. 

“Just trust me. I’ll make it up to you.”


	17. the bed

Persephone smirked.

They had made a poor job of hiding the damage. Wrapped the sheets around the splintered wood and tried to cover everything with their blanket. Not that it helped much. The bed looked broken, almost split in half and one of the posts seemed beyond repair, too. Persephone tried to remember how it actually happened. Somewhere amidst the throes of passion perhaps, with her holding to tight and Gaspard moving around a bit too much. Not the first victim of their nightly activities. She still mourned the loss of her favourite chair and that one really pretty dresser. .

The accused murderer of furniture covered himself with his shirt and put his hands on his hips.“Surely the Marquis will cope with the loss of a single bed.”

Persephone put her hands on his shoulders and bit his earlobe. “His favourite bed, though.”

“Yes, yes. Fit for an Emperor and his wife. I’ll pay him a compensation, if he has the gall to ask for it.” She doubted that a simple Marquis found the bravery and stupidity to demand something of the Orlesian ruler. A former duke, who had vanquished every foe and even some friends and, as rumors mentioned, bathed in the blood of his enemies. She’d never seen him bathe in anything but water and expensive soap, maybe wine and champagne on a generous day.

“Should we wake him up? Ask for another room? Maybe his own. Lets throw him and his dull mistress out of their own Chateau.” Persephone liked the idea. It’d serve as the revenge for a rather boring hunting trip and endless talks of pure-breed dogs. For all their glamour and prestige, Orlesians appeared dull compared to the families of the Free Marches. Dogs this, horses that,

“No. We’ll wait for the morning to tell him about our little accident. I want to see his reaction in broad daylight.”

“You’re a wicked wicked man.” Persephone sat down on a chaise longue, baring her legs within the motion. Her robe didn’t cover much of her skin and she thanked the Maker for the fireplace and flames. Marks from their earlier occupation started to show on her neck, bruisings from eager lips and teeth.

She drew some unseen lines on the seating, batting her lashes in a seemingly innocent way. “What to do with the rest of the night, though? It’s still early and I’m so so bored. Up for a board game maybe?”

Gaspard came to stand between her legs. He pushed her knees apart and kept his eyes focussed on her face. “A board game? You don’t have the patience for that.”

“Ah my husband knows me too well.” Her finger tugged at the end of his shirt.

“That thing doesn’t look like it could carry us both.”

Persephone shrugged. “Maybe the Marquis should order sturdy furniture in the future. Not our fault, if it breaks.” She loved the power of her title, the freedom it granted her. After years of fighting her determined role in life as the heiress of her family, she was finally free to do whatever she wanted. For example fucking her husband on a delicate chaise longue without a care in the world.

“And I’m the wicked one?” Gaspard cupped her cheek and she kissed the back of his hand. . 

“We’re both rotten, my love.”


	18. a fountain

Persephone tugged at her mask. Though, finely crafted with inlaid silver and small diamonds, it scratched. She’d been wearing it for hours now, shaking hands and talking and trying to please and flatter their guests. A shame that throwing them out didn’t seem polite enough. Orlesian nobility consisted of frail and ambitious people, who loved talking more than swords. Persephone would rather spend another night with the Chevaliers, training, fighting.

She’d found herself a nice and calm hiding spot. Not that she actually was in hiding, but Persephone rather liked the fountain. White marble and naked women spitting water into a large basin. Coins glistened beneath the surface nd a constant stream of water soothing her thoughts.

Persephone’s dress, tailored to her body, became heavier with every passing second, too. They’d tried to hide the wideness of her shoulders and her scars beneath gauze and pearls. She felt like some sort of freakish animal caught in mid performance. After months, no years by now, she still got tired of her duties as the wife of Gaspard. Tired of being paraded around. The Free Marcher, the Inquisitor.

“There used to be a well here. I can still remember stories about it being haunted.” Speaking of him. Gaspard wore more armor than finery and carried his favored sword with him. “My grandmother told me about it. A foreign princess drowned here. Throwing herself into the depths of a well instead of marrying an Orlesian. Can’t remember, where she came from.”

Gaspard shrugged. “Maybe Ferelden. They adore their grand gestures of defiance.”

He sat down at her side. “You’re not thinking about drowning yourself in my fountain?” Gaspard sounded tired, too. Maybe he’d longed for the quietness of the forest and an empty Chateau. After all, his temperament resembled hers.

“And grant you the pleasure of playing a grieving widower? Never. I already see a flock of delicate things surrounding you, expressing their sadness, while trying to lure you between their virgin thighs.”

His chuckle raised the short hair on her neck. Deep and throaty and with the promise of another night together. “Am I not allowed to have some joy in my life?”

“Not as long as I am here.” Persephone shoved her elbow in Gaspard’s side.

He caught her hand and tipped her wedding band with a forefinger. “Such a cruel woman. Maybe I should push you.”

“In a fountain barely reaching to my knees?”

“Ah, my plan is flawed. I see that now.” Gaspard reached behind him and splashed some water on her dress.

“You’re being childish.” Persephone laughed nonetheless and hoped that their guest were entertaining themselves and not witnessing such a scenery.

“And you’re an alluring delight and I’m wondering how this dress will look like soaked in water.” Gaspard rubbed the fabric between his fingers. “Hopefully very sheer.”

“I’m not taking a bath for you.” Persephone liked this playful side of him. One barely seen in court or in front of others. It spoke of trust and love and deeper understandings.

“And we’re back to me throwing you into the fountain.”

Persephone slid closer to whisper into his ear. “Throw out our guests and I’ll even take a swim for you.”

Gaspard got up in an instant. “Five minutes. Better get ready to show me your swimming skills.”


End file.
